Knives
by Sifl-senpai
Summary: "Psychic power," began Mogami Keiji, "isn't really all that special." (Or, Reigen's experience with the Greatest Psychic of the 20th Century- and what that means for Shigeo. Mangaverse, spoilers for the anime.)


The television in the living room was old and ugly from years of abuse, and the bunny-eared antennae sometimes fell sideways and cast the world on the screen into a writhing ocean of salt and pepper. But on a good day, the picture was clear, and on a clear day, the colors were crisp, and today, when the stars aligned and the universe decided to grant a miracle of national daytime broadcasting, Mogami Keiji from Spirits and Such appeared out of the gulag of American-style talk show hell like a specter from the ether.

"Oh, look," said Arataka's mother from her spot at the kitchen table, "isn't he from that ghost show? Shady."

"Hm," was Arataka's reply.

The stage lights illuminated the floor like a second sun as Mogami bowed and took his seat. "Thank you," he said, in that quiet way of his, "for inviting me on your show. I am honored."

The audience's clapping and enthusiasm continued through the host's return greeting, and then dissolved like salt in an ocean, still palpable and ever-present but never in plain sight, as both host and guest took their seats.

"Now, Mister Mogami," the host said. "Let's get the obvious question out of the way, first, though I am sure you have been asked this before- are you really a psychic? Is it real, what you do on your show?"

Mogami bowed his head in affirmation. "Why, yes, I am- and it is quite real."

"Look at him. Lying on television. Arataka, you can change the channel if you like." Arataka's mother turned back to the newspaper laid out in front of her.

"Hm. 'Kay." Honestly, if she was planning to focus on her reading, Arataka couldn't understand why she bothered to turn on the television in the first place. He propped his head up on his elbows and kept his eyes on the broadcast.

On screen, the host extended his hand, palm open and accepting, but with a catch clutched and concealed in the other. "Would you give us a demonstration? Could you, say, read my mind right at this moment?"

"Read minds?" Mogami asked. "Oh, no. I may be a psychic, but I am not that kind of psychic- although, if I were to hazard a guess," he closed his eyes, "You are surely thinking that you want me to do something spectacular."

A flash of teeth shone bright across the host's face. "Wow! Are you sure you can't read minds?" The audience laughed.

Then, the host's shoes inexplicably slipped off and hung in the air, and a pair of socks with green and yellow polka-dots followed after. They danced in midair together, each shoe partnered with a sock and accompanied by the many gasps of the audience, and then pirouetted around the room until they returned to the feet of their open-mouthed owner.

"Did he do some kind of trick?" Arataka's mother asked.

"Huh? Yeah," Arataka said. "Something with wires, I think. But it's cool. Look! Everybody's really excited."

A pen clicked. "Don't get any ideas, Arataka."

Arataka grinned, rueful. "Aw, Mom."

Mogami's level voice quieted the room within the television. "I am not sure if that is, um, spectacular per se, but unfortunately I lack imagination about such things."

"Amazing!" the host exclaimed, lifting a foot and gazing at it like it was a separate, living creature. "What other things can you do? Will you show us, Mister Mogami?"

Mogami said nothing, but he vanished from his chair and appeared on the other side of the room, standing, and then immediately disappeared and reappeared back in his seat as if he had never moved.

"What did he do that time?" Arataka's mother asked.

"Uh," said Arataka, "Something with mirrors, prolly."

"What! Why," the host looked from where Mogami had been to where he was now, "how did you do such a thing, Mister Mogami? Could it be mirrors?"

"Toldja."

Mogami shook his head. "While I am sure a cleverer person than I could accomplish a similar effect with mirrors, I assure you that I am not that ingenious. I simply moved from here to there all on my own."

At that, the host leaned closer to Mogami, his eyes wide behind his round glasses. "What else? What else can you do, Mister Mogami?! This is amazing! Unbelievable!" The audience made noises of agreement, though none in particular rose above the others in coherent words.

"Unfortunately I am afraid that nothing else I can do is something appropriate for this show, not only due to the limitations of modern technology, but for the safety of the audience."

"Heh," said Arataka, absently chewing on his nail, "that's a good one. I should use that."

"Arataka," scolded Mother. "No ideas."

"...However," Mogami continued, "if you need me to continue to use telekinesis to assuage your doubts, that is simple enough. For example, I could lift you up and allow you to dance around the room alongside your shoes, should you please."

"Ah!" the host grabbed the arms of his chair, and then bowed, repeatedly. "Forgive me, Mister Mogami! I was wrong to doubt you! I would like to stay here on the ground, thank you!" Predictably, the audience laughed.

"Ehh, that sucks," said Arataka. "I wanted to see him do it."

When the audience was finished, the host adjusted his glasses, and then his tie, and then cleared his throat. "Thank you for indulging us in what I am sure was a tedious display for you."

Mogami tilted his head, demure. "It's no trouble. In fact, I find that, overall, I encourage it. Suspicion can keep you safe from things much more dangerous than spirits."

"If nothing else, he's a good actor," said Arataka's mother. "He sounds very sincere." She flipped a page. "Much like someone else I know."

On screen: "Wise words, Mister Mogami. Though, this raises the question, as I know most of your job involves your ability to see ghosts- how dangerous is your line of work? Can the spirits do the things you do?"

"No, obviously," said Arataka, "'cause saying yes would make you have to pay more for special effects."

But, instead, Mogami nodded. "Yes."

"Yeah, whatever, milk the suspense," Arataka grumbled.

The stage lights cut into the edges of Mogami's long hair and crowned him in a red-brown halo as he panned his gaze over the audience and stopped on the camera, as if he could hear Arataka's naysaying through it. "Some can use telekinesis, and some can possess you, and I have met one with the power to create illusions within the mind, but," he folded his hands and turned back to the host, "those are few and far between. They are nothing to trouble yourselves over, really. It is always good to be mindful and respectful of the world beyond what you can see, but it should not drive the course of your life."

"Brr!" The host jumped from his seat. "The first part of your answer makes me too frightened to listen to the advice in the second!" The audience again laughed as the host pushed up one of his sleeves. "I have goosebumps!"

Mogami smiled blithely while the audience politely carried on.

"You must be an especially calm guy," the host continued, "to face all of this with such an even disposition!"

"Ah." Mogami shook his head. "I was told that, with my unaffected mannerisms, Japanese comedy would be an exceptional career choice for me, but," he shrugged, "Alas, I am not very funny."

Arataka and his mother chuckled along with the audience.

"Though," the host looked to his shoes, and then hid his eyes behind the glare of his glasses, "I wonder. Telekinesis, possession, illusions of the mind. That's what you can do, right?"

"Among other things, yes, that is correct."

"There's more?" The audience chuckled again at the host's open mouth, though it was much more subdued than before, somehow. "I see. And, if that's true," the host licked his lips, "rather than being scared of the spirits, should we," the room quieted, and the air on the stage grew heavy, eerie, and suited for a very different type of broadcast, "should we be scared of you?"

"...I beg your pardon?"

The host sat up and waved off his words, quickly. "No, no, I meant nothing by it, of course! Only, well, nobody else can do the things you do. That makes you quite an amazing person, Mister Mogami. That was all I meant." He smiled, his polish renewed.

"Maybe that's how we know he's a fake," Arataka said. "'Cause otherwise he'd've brainwashed us all by now, or something."

"Arataka!"

"What, Mom?" The boy turned around from his spot on the floor.

"Don't be rude," his mother chastised.

"He can't hear me!"

"You don't know that. Maybe he can!"

"Mom!"

Onstage, Mogami's face clouded over, and, after a moment, the weight of his thoughts pushed his eyelids closed. "Hm." He shifted in his seat and covered his mouth, like he was afraid of what might happen if his words came out too soon. "While I appreciate your consideration of my feelings, there is something very important I would like to say- if you'll allow me, please."

The host nodded, his questions held at bay behind his puzzled frown, and held out an obliging hand towards his guest.

Then, the bright lights on the stage faded until only a single spot of it hung above Mogami like a veil stretching from the black of his hair to the green-grey of his tweed jacket, and then down to his modest loafers. The rest of the stage faded away as the camera came closer, and closer, until the black of Mogami's pupils was clearly divided from the brown of his irises. His cheeks looked thinner, up close, and the thin veins of grey weaving in and out of the dark of his hair revealed themselves one by one alongside the wrinkles carved beside the corners of his lips.

He took a breath and blinked- once, twice- before he opened his mouth.

"Psychic power," began Mogami Keiji, "isn't really all that special." His eyes pierced through the camera, somehow, as if time and space were nothing that could separate him from the soul of his viewers. "It's not. It is only another talent, or another quality that a person can possess, like how some people," he clasped his hands together, and then broke them apart, "are creative, or how others are clever, or others are even likeable and funny. But," he shook his head, "just like with every talent, it's important not to use it to hurt other people. That's not what talents and gifts are for." Then, he spread his arms out wide, his hands pushing through the borders of the television screen and into the air of the living room. "Think of them as something else. Maybe, maybe a blade. A knife." Mogami smiled at Arataka, his stoic face suddenly warm. "That sounds scary, I know, but think about it for a moment- we use knives for lots of things, like making dinner, or cutting rope, or sometimes picking the lock to get to the sweets in the pantry before dinner, when especially desperate."

Arataka blushed despite himself. "How did you know that I did that?"

Mogami smiled wider, undeterred. "Can you use a knife to hurt other people? Yes, you can- but it can also defend you, should you ever need it. But, barring that, you shouldn't- you shouldn't use knives to hurt others. In fact, there are many things you shouldn't use knives for, but they are still very useful for so many other things. Don't you think?" He cocked his head. "So, yes. Think of my talents, my psychic power, as a knife that I always must carry on me." Mogami's smile faltered, just for a moment. "I can never get rid of it, no matter what I try to do. But! That does not mean that I will take it out and use it when I don't need it. I'm sure you understand- after all, you have many talents all your own." He lifted a single hand and held it out to Arataka. "Those, too, are their own kind of knives, and you should be mindful of them."

His hand lingered in the air, waiting. His nails were short and clean, but uneven and split below his smooth palms. Arataka could count the veins in his wrist and trace how they wound into the intersection of his long, broken life line and deep fate line.

"Mogami Keiji," Arataka whispered, "Ghosts exist, don't they?"

Mogami smiled wider. "Don't forget that- and trust yourself."

Arataka's hand found its way into the air, shaking, his fingers outstretched and a hair's breadth away from Mogami's.

"You don't need to be afraid," Mogami said.

"I'm not," said Arataka.

His mother's voice jerked his hand away. "Arataka," she said, still perusing her newspaper, "Who are you talking to?"

"I-!" Arataka looked to his mother, and then back to the man in front of him.

A single jagged wave of static brushed across the television screen, and Mogami Keiji was again neatly contained between the four sides of the frame, nodding along with whatever the host was saying.

"Nobody," Arataka said. "Myself."

"Oh, well. Turn off the television and help me start dinner, would you?"

"Yeah," said Arataka. "Sure."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

 **Author's notes**

 **(Years later, a boy with blank eyes came up to Arataka and asked, "How do I use my powers?" Arataka gave him the best advice he could- advice he had heard years before, because a knife was all he knew to compare them to.) Thank you for reading and reviewing!**


End file.
